


Recovery

by lureavi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mention of Suicide, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Matt Holt has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, There's a lot of headcanon for Matt obviously, happy ending I promise, mostly - Freeform, they're trying their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lureavi/pseuds/lureavi
Summary: Neither dared to slow down, or pause to catch their breath when the war ended. Instead, Shiro and Matt chose to work themselves half to death.Now, with both of them placed under a forced leave of absence, they'll have to start coming to terms with all they've been through, and acknowledge the codependency they've built on one another.(A sequel to Drops of Sunshine but it's definitely not required to read that first.)





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is mostly canon-verse (until s8 rolls around I’m sure) you totally don’t have to read Drops of Sunshine to know what’s going on. However, I can promise some parts will be a bit more feels-y if you do read the other fic first.  
> IMPORTANT NOTE!!: There's a part of this where Shiro has a nightmare about losing control of himself, and doing something pretty gruesome. That nightmare has been put in between horizontal lines so it can (and should) be skipped over if you don’t want to read the details of choking someone to death. It’s a nightmare, and intentionally disturbing, so please proceed with caution

It hadn’t been a spectacle.

There had never been the perfect, cliche moment where one of them lept into the other’s arms. There had never been the dramatic kiss, like a scene from a movie. There had never been a tearful, heat of the moment confession while the world watched.

Somewhere, amidst the chaos of reunions, recoveries, and rebuildings, it had just happened.

Matt thought he hadn’t seen Shiro since the disappearance of Voltron. Before he saw him again, he learned it had been much longer.

Shiro had been well aware of how long it had been since the memories of Matt were his own.

When they finally saw each other again, life didn’t come to a still.

They had embraced, and spoke hushed whispers that neither would remember over the overwhelming surge of comfort and relief. They promised not to leave the other’s side, and the rest they would figure out along the way.

Time didn’t slow down. It wouldn’t stop for them, so they couldn’t stop either. Not even for each other.

At first, they would stand side by side, only take seats next to one another, take on only projects they could do together. Until it wasn’t enough. Until, in walking side by side, discussing the plans to build a new rehabilitation center that could cater to the needs of specific alien races, the backs of their hands brushed for the last time. Shiro grasped Matt’s hand securely, and though a rosy hue dusted both of their faces, neither of them broke their stride, and neither of them lost their train of thought. The world didn’t revolve around them.

From then on, one another’s presence alone was not enough. They needed contact. They held hands whenever they could, quickly learning to share one tablet that Shiro could hold and Matt could control. They would occupy the same seat as often as possible, learning the way they could fit together: side by side with an arm around the other, with Matt’s legs strewn across Shiro’s lap and his body slotted into the gap where Shiro’s arm would have been, or with one of them in front with the other’s chin rested atop their head and arms around their waist.

Their first kiss almost didn’t take either by surprise, as they stood in the kitchen of their shared apartment, after an all-nighter of coordinating aid efforts to the Si-vim Quadrant. Shiro had handed Matt a mug of coffee. Without even thinking, Matt mumbled a quiet thanks before placing a hand upon the other’s cheek, and a chaste kiss upon his lips.

For just a second, their hearts both stopped. But, they knew the rest of the universe wouldn’t stop with them. So they shared bashfully smitten smiles, one more lingering kiss, and got back to work.

No one asked them about their relationship. They wouldn’t know what to say if they ever were asked. There was no discussion they ever had, no label they put on themselves, no plans for their future outside the projects they had taken on. It was comfortable, consistent, and came to be crucial. When the nightmares struck, anxiety kicked in, and the lines of reality blurred with virulent memories, it was no less than vital.

When Matt woke himself screaming, clawing the invisible hands at his throat, gasping for air and choking on tears as his legs thrashed out uselessly, it would only be moments until Shiro was there. Shiro pulling Matt’s hands away and holding them, softly kneading his thumbs into trembling palms and whispering reassurances until Matt felt he could breathe again.

When Shiro woke in a cold sweat, wailing in agony as he clutched his head in his hands, fingers digging painfully into his skull to as he struggled to rationalize anything, to get ahold of himself and be sure he was in control, Matt would come running. Matt would place a hand on either side of Shiro’s face, leaning their foreheads together and frantically promising him that this is real, this is really you, you’re here and you’re safe in my arms.

Their tears would mingle as they found it impossible to break apart. They didn’t return to their own beds, instead holding each other close, murmuring a thousand promises to not let go, until sleep took them both. At some point, it made more sense to just begin in the same bed. Without even thinking about it, Shiro followed Matt into his room one night, and Matt hadn’t objected. Instead, he had commented that it was about time. There was no proclamation of love. Nothing passionate, steamy, or even remotely sexual that took place. Nothing but a brief, playful argument over who got to be the little spoon. It was the most in depth conversation they had yet had regarding their relationship. Exhaustion crept up on them both before it had finished, and they fell to sleep with Matt’s face buried in Shiro’s neck, palms against his chest, Shiro’s arm wound tightly around him, and their legs interwoven. Shiro’s bedroom has since been used for little more than storage.

Their days of fighting on the front lines had ended, the war had ended. But, the world still turned, and it seemed the weight of a thousands worlds sat firmly upon their shoulders. From each other they drew the strength to carry it, the inspiration to work harder, and the drive to see it through.

Still, it took its toll.

Night after endless night, day by grueling day, there was no vacation. No reprieve. None they would indulge themselves in. Clear to all but them, it would be only a matter of time before one would break, and, inevitably, so too would the other.

Once more, they had been found together in a conference room, passed out beside each other amidst a scattering of paperwork, tablets, and emptied coffee cups. When they had been gently shaken awake, it was hard to say which of them had darker bags under their eyes. Compared to even just a month ago, Shiro’s face had grown more gaunt, and the patch of whitened hair in Matt’s bangs had grown larger.

And so came the words that neither expected to hear.

“You’re both being placed under a forced leave of absence,” none other than Samuel Holt firmly informed them, “effective immediately, until further notice pending psych evaluations.”

They shared a singular, panic-struck reaction as they both scrambled to their feet, shuffling their work back into order and spouting every excuse they could think of.

“We only have two quintants before the embassy on Reiphod opens,” Matt pleaded, shoving his tablet forwards to show how much was on their to do list for this project alone, “and-”

“And every ambassador is on location, more than ready to take care of the final preparations themselves.”

The rest of Matt’s argument faded in his throat, and his eyes snapped to Shiro with a pleading gaze.

Shiro hastily unrolled a massive blueprint in front of Sam’s feet, the paper measuring at least two meters diagonal, “at the very least we need another movement to spend on these schematics for-”

“For a project we aren’t scheduled to break ground on for three more years at the earliest.”

They both shot back more futile arguments, finishing each other's thoughts and backing the other up as they brought forth more and more evidence of projects that, to them, absolutely could not wait, could not be reassigned, could not be finished in time if they-

Sam was having none of it, and silenced them both. “For god's sake, you two. I don’t think you’ve had so much as a proper weekend since before the Kerberos mission,” he shook his head taking on a more soothing tone before stooping down to help gather the endless pieces of projects, “you’re going to work yourselves to death, and I won’t stand by and watch it. Neither will _your_ mother,” he pointedly directed at Matt before turning to Shiro, “or _your_ team.” He snatched as much as he could from the hands of the two dumbstruck officers, “it’s already been decided. Your projects have been reassigned, your-”

Shiro and Matt mirrored had twin bursts of outrage, spewing what couldn’t be considered more than nonsense as their words overlapped.

“Pipe down, the both of you!” Sam yelled over them, bapping each one lightly on the head with a rolled-up blueprint, “do either of you even know that it’s almost Christmas? Just a week away! Do you even remember what a week is anymore?”

“It's about half a quintant longer than a varga,” Matt mumbled, offendedly rubbing his head where the blueprint had hit, “but, dad, we-”

“No! No buts!” Their senior officer insisted. He fished around in several pockets, muttering intelligibly to himself about forgetfulness before producing a ring of keys. He tossed them to Shiro, who barely caught them, “the keys to your car, Shiro. And to the Holt family home. Your mother and I...” for a moment, he paused, having addressed that line clearly to the both of them rather than just Matt. The only discernible reaction he caught was the twitch of a smile tugging at Shiro’s lips, so he continued without need to correct himself, “we promised to visit Katie on Olkarion for the holiday, so you can have the house to yourselves. You two don’t have to go there, but by tomorrow night I want you gone from here. Understood?”

Shiro and Matt, though not too used to it occuring, knew when they had been defeated. They knew the rest of their arguments would be silenced, the rest of their efforts brushed aside.

And so, for the first time, the very cosmos came to a crashing halt.

They were the only two people in existence, and they had no idea what to do.

In a dazed stupor, they returned to their shared apartment, and collapsed onto a single oversized loveseat, the fingers of both their hands laced together as they rested in quiet contemplation.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. The weight of a thousand burdens lifted, but they felt as if without it, they may float away. So they gripped tightly to each other, silent and unmoving, because their world depended on it.

Finally, Shiro took it upon himself to say what neither of them had the courage to. He brushed his lips against Matt’s temple to get the man’s attention. Their noses met as they stared into each other’s eyes, and he asked, “what do we do now?”

Time itself shattered. For all they knew, the sun could have stopped burning. The stars may have ceased to shine. Everything they knew, outside their own heartbeats, had stopped.

Matt let his eyes flutter shut as he exhaled across the other’s lips, “I guess we pack, and leave in the morning.” Another silence fell over them, but only momentarily, as Matt came to a realization. “Shiro… I haven’t been home yet,” he confessed. “This is going to be my first time going home.”

It made sense, now that it had been said. As he thought back, Shiro quickly realized that every night, weekend, and holiday since their return from war had been spent together on base. Matt had stayed with Shiro the same night as their reunion. It had been meant to be temporary, but with an extra bedroom available, and their newfound codependency, it had turned comfortably permanent. He had his own ideas and hopes of what that made them, but he had no idea what Matt's thoughts were. Rather than bring it up, he ran the fingers of his prosthetic hand through Matt’s hair, letting it linger beside his ear, knowing the brunette liked to hear the dull thrum it softly emitted. “We don’t have to go there. I’ll go anywhere with you,” he promised, and meant it. It hadn’t sounded quite as cheesy in his head.

Matt didn’t call him on it, choosing rather to press their lips together and feel the rough, familiar comfort of chapped lips smiling against his own, of dark stubble lightly prickling at his chin. He couldn’t help but think about what a break would do for them, or to them. They had never had to question themselves, to complicate things. There hadn’t been time. But now? Did they even know each other beyond the shallow, selfish comfort they took in one another? He broke their kiss with a sigh, a sharp pain echoing through his chest at the thought of losing any of it. “I want to. With you… I want to go home,” he admitted, the final word lingering in his thoughts.

Home.

At that moment, he came to another realization. The word home, in regards to his childhood house, didn’t feel right anymore.

Home wasn’t a place to him. Home was the fingers that combed through his hair, the steel eyes that lit with a smile when they met his own, the heartbeat he would fall asleep to that night. Another pang went through his heart, but this one wasn’t filled with the usual trepidation.

They wordlessly packed their belongings, digging through long unopened boxes and drawers for any sort of civilian clothing, hearts aching at the memories nearly forgotten of what it had been like to wear them. What a freedom it had been to worry endlessly about things they could now only find frivolous, inconsequential, or petty.

At the end of it, they spoke little, and curled around each other as they fell into a dreamless slumber.

In the morning, they felt what they had remembered the day previous. Shiro inspected himself in the full length mirror of his old bedroom, suddenly dreadfully conscious of the muscles that had softened, of the dark shadow he had let grow on his jaw, the contrast of it to his whitened hair. What did Matt think of how he looked? Did the other man care? He let his head fall against the cool glass, his breath fogging it with a deep sigh. What did either of them want…?

Matt fared no better, staring at himself in his own mirror with distaste. His hair has lost its curl, and hung limply across his shoulders, a noticeable streak entirely colorless. He cringed at the brush of cold against his neck as he tied his hair back, the few fingers on his right hand he had lost, and was given robotic replacements for. He struggled with deciding what to wear, what even looked good on him anymore out of the few articles that still fit. He nervously fumbled with the buttons of a shirt he knew wasn’t his, wasn’t Shiro’s, and was likely something Adam had left behind. He pushed aside the thought of how messed up that was. He hadn’t worn anything but rags, prisoner’s garb, or uniforms in years. What would Shiro like him in? Did Shiro even ever find him attractive? He tore his eyes away from the mirror, unwilling to count any more imperfections. Was he good enough…?

Neither voiced their fears to the other, but the endless string of unspoken words that filled the air between broken smiles, the mutual affection pushed into the squeeze of their hands was enough. It was solidarity, endearment, even validation as they looked to the other and saw nothing they could live without.

Shiro could answer at least one of his questions. The entire drive, which they made in silence, he stole glances at Matt whenever he could get away with it. Each one made his chest tighten, and overflow with warmth. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to let himself be in love. Not to fall, but to march into it with the confidence and assurance Matt gave him. To live a shared life rather than a codependency.

He wanted, desperately needed, to heal. Together.

He was ready for that.

They remained soundless, struck by some sort of awe when they reached their destination a short while later. It looked more a mirage, more just wishful thinking than a reality.

The house that Matt grew up in. The house that Shiro had been nearly dragged into as the Holt family became his own. The image of Earth both had held onto for years as they were caught in the furthest depths of nowhere, so far away they swore they might touch the edge of existence.

To see it again was like sifting through the ashes of a burning dream long gone cold.

It was autonomous, the way they exited the car, retrieved their minimal belongings and made their way to the door. Matts hand fumbled as he turned the keys, arm frozen and breath caught. After a timeless eternity, he flung open the door, and they both stepped into the preservation of a life they had all but buried, all but forgotten, all but given up hope on.

The rush of weightlessness that slammed into them left them breathless.

“It’s really over,” Matt croaked, dropping to his knees. Before he knew it, the tears poured down his cheeks in rivers, soaking into Shiro’s shirt as he found himself engulfed in the other man’s arms, as he felt Shiro’s shoulders shake with the force of his own choking cries.

It really, truly, finally was over.

Just like that, the clocks began to tick again.

The overwhelming realizations stabbed through them, that the sun would rise, that the waves would crash, that the grass would grow, that the flowers would bloom. That the world, the universe, life itself would rage on.

That they sat, locked in a tearful embrace on the worn-down welcome mat of the Holt family home for exactly two hours, twenty-six minutes and fifty-eight seconds before either of them could bear to part from one another, and that was okay.

That they were allowed to slow down, to catch their breath, to come to a stop while everything around them continued to move.

That it was over now, and they had time. Time to move on, instead of just pushing forward.

It was Shiro who pulled away first, with one final sniff as he wiped at his puffy, reddened eyes. There was no use crying on the floor. Matt attempted to bring them back closer, wrapping his arms tightly around Shiro’s neck as he refused to part just yet.

“Come on,” Shiro whispered, hoisting Matt into his arms enough to pick him up as he stood. Given the decline of his muscles, and Matt’s growth spurt since the last time Shiro had ever attempted to pick him up, it was more of a struggle than he had imagined. Nevertheless, he carried them over to a loveseat in the living room, where they could curl together more comfortably.

Matt used the time to scrub away at his own tear-stained face, unable to suppress the occasional hiccup as his cries dwindled. As soon as they were seated, he clung tightly to Shiro with one hand, and to the arm of the loveseat with the other, as if either one could slip away at any moment and he would awake alone in a frigid cell once again.

Shiro didn’t question it. Wordlessly, he understood.

Suddenly, that wasn’t enough anymore. Not for Matt, who gripped even tighter, and forced out the words.

“Whenever I hold onto you so tight… it’s because I’m afraid you’re just a dream, and I’ll lose you again” he explained. He met Shiro’s eyes, took in his upturned brows and watched as he opened his mouth to speak. Matt pressed their lips together, silencing the words before they began. “No, don’t stop me, I don’t care that you already know,” he whispered the second he pulled away. He released his grip on the loveseat, using the free hand to cup the side of Shiro’s face, “saying it… makes it more real. And it’s hard for me to say things, so don’t stop me when I do.”

Shiro leaned into the touch, placing his hand atop Matt’s own and placing a kiss on the other man’s palm. Though he knew he didn’t have to respond, Matt was right. Saying it made it real. “I want it to be real,” he admitted, “you and me.”

It was nearly impossible to think, let alone speak over the sound of his own hammering heartbeat. “Are we finally going to talk about this?” Matt asked, “because… I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t know the words yet, either,” Shiro assured him. Tender words and heartfelt confessions had never been his strong suit. Though he didn’t know it, the thoughts plaguing his mind were very similar to those Matt had felt earlier. The worries of what they would be underneath their obligations, behind the personas they had embodied for so long.

It was too risky to find words before they knew what was left of themselves to salvage. What would be there when the armor had finally been stripped away, and scars began to fade. Shiro knew he had gotten a head start. From the moment he had come back to life, he had begun gathering the pieces of himself, getting a grasp on who he’d become. Now he had the time to put them together, and already his puzzle was partially complete. But, he knew Matt had yet to start.

They had time now.

Shiro felt the shifting in his stomach before the tell-tale grumble. It had been a long day, and he guessed that neither of them would be in a well enough mental state to cook, considering the kitchen disasters they had both been even before trauma took rest in their minds. He contemplated it for a moment, getting lost both in thought and in the distant familiarity of everything his eyes glossed over. Specifically, to a stained and rumpled menu sitting on the coffee table just in front of them. “Do you want to order take-out?” he suggested, recalling the nights they had spent in Matt’s room, mindlessly shoving food into their mouths as they studied up on their mission protocol and ‘prepared themselves’ with any and all alien-based science fiction movies playing in the background. “I’ve been craving cashew chicken for at least three years, and maybe we can watch a movie.”

The flood of nostalgia spread to Matt, who eyed the same menu with what could almost pass for a smile. “Sounds an awful lot like a date, if you ask me,” he dared to say aloud, glancing out of the side of his eyes to gauge Shiro’s reaction.

Shiro’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t shy away. He planted a kiss firmly to Matt’s cheek, and laughed. “Then I’m asking you on a date,” he breathed. If he was being honest with himself, he should have asked years earlier. Before any of it all. But it wasn’t too late. So he reached forward, snatched up the menu, and found that nothing on it had changed since he last remembered, “is schezuan beef still your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” Matt admitted with a shrug. Food hadn’t exactly been something he had a choice on in a while.

“I guess we’ll find out, then.”

After ordering identically to how they would have back in their garrison days, they looked through the dusty rack of movies next to the T.V., picking apart each one to the best of their memories, in an impossible decision to decide which movie to make the first they would watch.

It was the longest they had talked about something so inconsequential since the last time they sat in that house. No matter how much had changed, they found they still shared an affinity for fantasy, still shared a love of The Princess Bride, and were still able to enjoy the simplicity of greasy comfort food. They discovered they also enjoyed watching a movie while laying across a couch, with Matt resting atop Shiro, head against his pounding heart. So much so, it lulled them both to sleep, with dreams of memories that made their hearts light rather than pang with a longing regret.

It was Matt who woke last, as per usual. He found himself flustered by the spatter of drool sticking his face to Shiro’s shirt, but if the fingers soothingly combing through his hair were anything to go by, the other man didn’t mind.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Shiro rumbled, sleep still thick in his voice. He hadn’t been awake long.

Warmth bubbled up in Matt’s chest, manifesting itself in the pink tinge creeping up his neck. He didn’t remember the last time Shiro had used the nickname, and hearing it again seemed to bring back a piece of himself he had left lightyears away. “I like when you call me that,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes and hoping the words were somewhat intelligible.

They were, and it made Shiro’s lips curl into a smile. He played with the tuft of silver hair that hung over Matt’s face, the only lock that had lost all its copper shine. The lightness in the other’s eyes made him feel bold, made him feel safe to ask something he hadn’t thought of until just then. “Would you call me Takashi?” he asked. The wording felt awkward, less sincere than he wanted it to be. But, after all, it was only the second time he had ever asked such a thing.

The pink tinge turned scarlet, and flooded into Matt’s cheeks, swallowing his freckles. “Yeah. That sounds good,” he marveled, nearly dumbstruck by the request, “Takashi.”

Neither had anything further to say about it, as comfortable silence filled the gap. Eventually, they had to get up. Shiro would suggest that they take the time to unpack, and Matt would wordlessly agree.

Shiro wouldn’t question it when Matt lead him to the guest bedroom, passing by his childhood room without so much as glancing at the door. Something he could ask later, perhaps. But now, he was content in watching Matt run his fingers along an old family quilt, or carefully eye pictures of family in brighter times.

Matt didn’t smile as much anymore. He no longer laughed too hard at as his own jokes to even complete them, or care to make many in the first place. Somewhere, in the four years Shiro had lost, the brightness of Matt’s eyes had dulled, his expressions had moved from lighthearted to weary.

Shiro hadn’t had it in him to mention it, but he had noticed from the start. It was among the many things that they deemed too painful to dwell on. He hadn’t wanted to know immediately, hadn’t wanted to come to terms with it. But, as he watched Matt shuck his shirt, and caught a glimpse of the gnarled scars, burn marks, and bullet wounds that littered the former rebel leader’s torso, the glint of the few fingers Matt had needed metal replacements for, he hoped for not the first time that one day Matt would be ready to tell him. He had already decided he was ready to share his own story, if Matt were to ask. In truth, there was little that the other didn’t know, but he needed the connection. He needed more than the wordless acceptance they had of one another. Saying it made it real, and more than anything, he needed real.

In the moment, Matt was certainly not ready to talk about it, nor did he know what to make of it when he caught Shiro staring as he stripped. He was rather far from confident about his body. Particularly under scrutiny from Shiro. He froze, clutching his shirt to his chest in attempt to cover up at least partly, “Takashi?” His voice wavered, unused to the name. He had planned on simply pointing out that the other was staring, but those weren’t the words that came out. “Doesn’t the way I look bother you?”

It caught them both off guard. Matt instantly regret it, wished he could take it back and snap shut the Pandora’s Box he hadn’t meant to open, but Shiro stepped towards him and gathered Matt’s hands into his own.

“Never,” Shiro asserted, without so much as a trace of hesitation. He could see, even feel the tension drain from the other, and knew he had to say more. Wordlessly wasn’t enough anymore. “I like your hair long,” he added, “and the way you tie it back. And you look… really great with the muscle you built up,” he broke their eye contact, truly meaning the words but not having the courage yet to say them while looking into Matt’s eyes, “I think you’re a lot more attractive than you give yourself credit for, and I don’t care about your scars. I have them too, and I’m not afraid to show them to you.”

Matt’s cheeks absolutely smoldered red with the compliments, and with the invitation that last line presented. Part of him knew it was superficial, shallow, and borderline trivial to care so much about his own appearance, but… It was a reassurance he had needed. His breath shook as he drew it in, but nevertheless he needed to return the sentiment. “You look good too, you know. The white hair suits you… And I don’t want you to shave your beard,” he managed with considerable effort, proud to have kept the shake in his voice to a minimum. He considered the invitation again, unsure of whether or not he was ready to compare scars. To share permanent, unwanted reminders.

“I’ll keep it for you, then,” Shiro promised, brushing his lips over the scar on Matt’s cheek before pulling away, letting go of the other’s hands to resume changing.

Matt grasped onto his wrist, keeping him in place. With a quivering fingers, he reached up and traced over the scar across Shiro’s nose. He wanted desperately to know, but couldn’t bear to say the words yet.

“They kept a muzzle on me, outside the arena,” Shiro explained matter-of-factly, unexpectedly, “that’s how I got the scar. You can ask. I want to tell you.”

As if he had been burned, Matt jerked his hand away. His mouth uselessly opened and closed, but there were no words he could scrounge up. His hands wrapped around his own torso, the chill starting to sink into his bare skin. He was still drowning in thought when he felt soft cloth press into his chest.

Shiro held one of his own shirts up to Matt, eyeing it with quirked lips. “This one will fit you. The one you wore yesterday was too small.”

A sigh of relief punched out of him as Matt accepted the dark flannel shirt. “Thank you,” he cringed, but was grateful all the same for the clothing and the diversion from a conversation he couldn’t quite take part in yet, no matter how much he yearned to. In keeping his eyes off of Shiro’s, he let them wander the room, coming to rest on a decade old Christmas portrait.

It was brimming with unfortunate haircuts, hideously matching sweaters, and tacky decorations.

“Can we decorate?” Matt wondered aloud, almost as if asking himself rather than Shiro. “Pidge and I used to fight over it… over who got to help mom put up the tree, or who got to help dad bake cookies… Can we do that?”

“I’ve... never done any of that before,” Shiro admitted, albeit timidly. He had never actively celebrated Christmas as a child. That hadn’t changed when he moved onto the garrison base, outside participating in a few secret santas. He listened to the music, enjoyed the decorations and seasonal treats, but he had never hung ornaments on a tree, never hung stockings, never successfully baked a cookie in his life.

“Then I’ll teach you.” Matt decided, no longer making it a question as he took Shiro by the hands and dragged him through the halls, down to the cellar and over to a corner of dusty boxes. Exactly where he had remembered them, with “CHRISTMAS” scrawled across most of them, and “KRISMISS” scribbled on one they had let Pidge label at the ripe old age of four. He tore into the first box, eagerly digging through the contents. It was the same. It was still the same as he remembered.

He could do this. Matt could do these memories.

He dropped to the floor, pulling things out of the box and handing them to Shiro, piling the man’s arms before resorting to spreading everything out on the floor. Every ornament, strand of tinsel, snowglobe and stocking. He started slow, softly as he mused to himself about what each item was, where it should go, until Shiro asked him to speak up, and he did. Absolutely animated, he continued his babbling, making a mess of the floor and covering them both in more than they would be able to carry, pausing only to breathe and make sure Shiro was still listening.

Shiro couldn’t have stopped him if he wanted to, bearing witness in silent amazement as Matt spoke more in a few hours than he likely had in the past year combined.

It was all sentimental, saccharine, and inconsequential. It wasn’t the stories Shiro lay awake wondering about, hoping Matt would have the comfort to share. It wasn’t what Matt needed to say, needed to admit to or ask.

But it was a vulnerability that Matt had yet to show, the first time he had opened up for more than a few meager sentences, and it was a human connection that Shiro desperately needed to feel. It was all the reassurance Shiro needed that Matt hadn’t changed as much as he feared, under a few more walls, he was still there, still Matt.

They spent hours, on the cold concrete in dim light, surrounded by dust, knick-knacks, and cobwebs, until Matt’s voice threatened to give out.

It was then, when no less than five boxes of Christmas nonsense lay strewn across the basement, that Matt finally paused his monologue. He flushed, his actions catching up to his mind as he realized how long he had been talking, how long he had forced Shiro to listen to what was surely no more than absurdity, “I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“Don’t apologize,” Shiro cut in, trying not to sneeze as the tinsel hanging off his head tickled at his nose. “That was great, Matt. This is perfect,” he praised, smiling brighter than the massive tangle of blinking lights they had plugged in to test, “I always love when you ramble.”

“I… I don’t ramble anymore. Not much,” he pointed out, feeling extraordinarily self-conscious.

“You should, though. I want to hear it. I want to hear you.” He pulled the tinsel off of his head, and draped it across Matt’s shoulders, his smile never fading as he continued, “I missed you, while we were apart. I thought I’d lost you more than once, and I didn’t know if, or when, we would ever-”

“Stop.” Matt gulped, the color draining from his face, “I can’t.”

Shiro’s heart sank as he realized he had ruined the moment, and watched Matt anxiously pack the boxes back up, “Matt, I didn’t-”

“I can’t!” He snipped, closing his eyes as if it would make resurfaced memories go away. His shaky inhale sliced through the silence, and he pushed a full box towards Shiro. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry… can you just… carry this?”

Shiro pushed the box aside, walked on his knees over to Matt and took the man’s face into his cupped hands, “It’s okay,” he softly cooed, “I’m sorry… that was my fault.”

Matt’s eyes remained clenched shut, unwilling to look. But, he felt the pain Shiro’s voice nearly hid, felt the sweet kisses placed to the outer corners of each of his eyes, and then felt the area around him grow cold.

For the first time they considered exactly how the other was suffering. How it differed from their own struggle. Matt had difficulty coming to terms with all he had been through. The grief of losing everything, everyone. The paranoia of being hunted, stalked like easy prey. The living nightmare of being dragged back into captivity, and tortured for information that would destroy all he had left to fight for if he gave in. The months he had spent alone, with no hope of rescue, and nothing to look forward to outside the promise of agony. He had prayed for death. He was too ashamed to admit it, too afraid to talk about how terrified he had felt, how much he had given up on himself. Even the memories of the pain made him nauseous, made his heart palpitate and his lungs seize. He didn’t know what it all had forced him to become, and he didn’t feel brave enough to find out.

But Shiro’s struggles were of a different nature entirely. With a year of nothing but his own mind in contemplation, he had accepted what happened to him in the arena. The nightmares of being forced to fight and kill were there, still haunting,  but were fewer. What he couldn’t manage was the guilt that wracked through him, for the things he failed to have control over. For the time he lost, the year in his memory that wasn’t quite his, of watching himself forced to betray everyone. The years that Earth, the universe, the rebels and Matt had fought and suffered through while he had only felt treacherous minutes. He couldn’t come to terms with how useless he had been, how lost he still felt in a body that wasn’t his own, with relationships and trust that wasn’t rightfully his. How much he prayed it was truly himself in control even now, and that he couldn’t be taken over again. He needed to feel human, to make himself _real_ and his own. Make his own connections, his own memories. No matter how painful it could feel to talk about his past, it was his.

When Matt finally peaked his eyes open, Shiro had left with the box. He continued packing up the rest of them, cursing himself for pushing the man away, for being unable or just unwilling to crawl out of his own shell no matter how much the other wanted and needed him to. He let out a short breath, rubbing circles in his temples and trying to remind himself that he had time, there was time now, there wasn’t… wasn’t anything to be afraid of anymore.

He lost track of how long he sat in quiet contemplation. It was time to get up, to find Shiro, to… Well, he didn’t know what, just yet. After hauling as many boxes as he could carry up the stairs, it didn't take long to catch sight of the other man, hanging a string of lights exactly over the fireplace as Matt had said in his earlier rambling.

Matt softly padded over to him, wringing his hands as he still mulled over what to say, “Shir…” the name trailed off as that morning came back to him, and he restarted with “Takashi?”

“One sec, Matt. I just want to hang this-” Shiro cut his own words with a startled gasp as arms wrapped around him, and a cold nose burrowed into the side of his head, “you know, a hug works better if I’m facing you,” he softly teased, placing his hands over the ones clutching his torso.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Matt mumbled into the skin below Shiro’s ear, “I should be able to talk to you.”

Shiro let out a long puff of air, the arms around him tightening as he did so, “I’m sorry I pushed you. You… you don’t have to be ready. I understand.”

“Nooo, that’s the problem,” Matt whined, dragging out the words as he struggled to find the next ones, “you do understand, and you know, but I’m still… afraid.”

“You’re allowed to be afraid,” he whispered, trying to turn in Matt’s iron grip around him, “I am too. But… talking helps.”

Matt peeled his arms away, just long enough for Shiro to face him before surging forward again with a crushing hug. He wanted to, wanted to say something, but had no idea where to begin, no idea what he could manage. “Can you… Can you ask me something?” He suggested hesitantly, though he became more sure of himself as he continued, “something small… Maybe. Maybe just a couple times a day. Just. Just start small.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Shiro nodded, mind racing to think of an acceptable question. There was so much he wanted to know, so much he wanted to ask, but small? He pondered whether or not the small referred to the gravity of the question or the brevity of the answer, but there was something he needed to know over all else. At the risk of closing the door that has just been opened for him, he had to ask, “how long… When you were captured, how long did they have you?”

“That’s… Not very small,” Matt weakly replied, tilting his head downwards to hide his expression beneath overgrown bangs.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Between six and eight months… I don't know for sure,” he grimaced, “everyone who knew I was captured…” His voice trailed off, taken by the memory of a lavender sky, of a pastel sea of once unfamiliar stars, of engines roaring over the ringing in his ears, of the cold press of a handgun to the underside of his chin.

But, the sky, the sky… It was unequivocally beautiful, and for a second, he could almost let himself believe it might be Earth. For one final, dreadful second, he might convince himself he had made it home. He might convince himself he hadn’t failed. He might be at peace as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Yet, his was not the next shot that rang out. Blood spattered his face, a sharp, electric pain through his fingers quickly replaced by a throbbing ache, his blaster no longer in his grasp. Rough hands knocking him over, pressing him into the dirt, binding him, dragging him, before the ground shuddered and quaked.

Through the dust, rubble, and tears, he watched his ship crash back to the surface, felt the collapsing explosion reverberate through him. He knew that none of his crew would survive it, regardless of the sacrifice he had tried to make to save them. How he had tried to hold the Galra off alone so that they could get off the ground, so that they could get away.

Yet _he_ was the lone survivor, and the Galra were taking him alive.

Everything blackened, his eyes clenched closed. Surely if he were to open them, he’d be in the depths of a prison, chained to a table, surrounded by harsh violet lights and nightmarish tools, surrounded by Galra, he’d be bleeding, aching, freezing-

“Matt. Matt, hey, can you look at me? Come on sweetheart, you can open your eyes,” Shiro gingerly pleaded, careful not to stir while Matt clung to him, trying not to wince as the man’s fingers dug painfully into him, “it’s okay, you’re safe, sunshine. You’re safe.”

Warmth bit through the cold, obscurity giving way to hazy light the more Matt blinked his eyes open. Shiro’s voice was cloudy, muted and distant but there nonetheless.

“Do you know where you are?” Shiro continued, his voice smooth and steady, unceasing as the words began to clarify to Matt, “you’re home. You’re with me. You’re with Takashi, we’re in your living room, we were hanging Christmas decorations, do you remember? You’re safe here, you’re safe right now.”

“Yeah,” came the hesitant reply, “I’m safe,” Matt mumbled as the situation returned to focus. His mind held fast to _safe,_  the sound of the sentiment as Shiro repeated it to him, the beating of a heart as his cheek pressed against a warm chest, the feel of steady hands running up and down his back. Safe.

“You with me again, sunshine?” Shiro asked, voice heavy with relief as Matt responded.

“Yeah,” Matt rasped again with a nod, “I’m sorry. I’m back.” He gave a grim half-smile, hoping it would be taken as reassurance.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” Shiro withdrew his hands from Matt’s back, moving them to cup the other man’s face and lean their foreheads together. Every movement gradual, quiet, and with ample opportunity for Matt to intervene. Of the few things they had discussed about themselves, this was one of them. No sudden movements, no loud noises, as much gentle contact and soft words as possible helped to ground the other. Shiro felt Matt’s breath quiver, each soft puff warm against his lips. He waited, humming softly until the shaking subsided, until the breath mingling with his slowed down to a normal pace. “Why don’t we take a break, sweetheart. We can decorate later.”

Matt huffed out a humorless laugh. They hadn’t decorated at all. In fact, he felt they hadn’t accomplished much of anything that day, but he couldn’t deny his exhaustion. “Yeah, a break sounds nice,” he relented. He couldn’t help but feel fragile as Shiro guided him to the couch, as they gently snuggled into each other and spoke little, as if Shiro thought he would shatter at the slightest jostle. Then again, perhaps he would. It had been an eventful day.

Yet, it continued, and calmed, and eventually night crept in. As they turned in early, curled together in bed, face to face as per usual, Matt felt at ease again. As they both fell asleep, Shiro felt it as well.

But, the day wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t last.

* * *

 

Shiro’s body moved of its own volition. His eyes pried open wide, unblinking, yet his vision a violaceous blur. The mass in front of him on the floor in a quivering, retching heap of black and crimson. There was no thought, no reason, just the shrill reverberations in the back of his mind, giving orders, taking action, taking charge. His boot collided with the soft mass, the thing letting out a broken sound. He had brought it there, had dragged it by its chains, had crushed its weak attempts to escape, had punished it for the trouble it caused. As he crouched down beside it, the creature came just slightly more into focus. He could see the blood dribbling down its chin, see it feebly clutch its own wounds, hear its agonized pleas that sounded so garbled and frantic. The shrieks in his mind grew louder, calling for no mercy, no sympathy, no rest until it was dead.

He took his time, pressing the pitiful creature flat against the ground, climbing atop it and running his hands up a heaving chest, coming to rest around a thin, pale throat. He watched, his face inches away and spattered in the blood the creature choked on, it was gasping for air already. His hands pressed, tight and unrelenting. Fingers weakly clawed at his own, legs kicking out fruitlessly below him as this paltry thing tried to free itself.

Not out of mercy, but out of frenzied lust to watch it suffer even more, Shiro let go. He watched it sputter, watched it suck in air and spit out blood, watched it shiver, weep and try to curl in on itself. Then the raucous screams in his head grew louder, more frantic, no longer sentences, no longer logical commands, they shrieked for pain, for _death_ , for **_blood._**

He wrapped his hands around the thing’s throat again, taking the time to feel each strangled sob, feel it scream out with the last of its breath and suck in just enough air to prolong its suffering. Bloodied hands smacked ineptly at his own, but he ignored it, focusing on feeling, on savoring each flex and pulse of the flesh in his grip as the thing slowly suffocated. It wasn’t enough. The voices wailing, screaming, shrieking for more, for blood, _blood,_ **blood,** ** _BLOOD!_**

He needed to watch the life drain from its eyes, needed to watch it suffer, needed to watch it die. His gaze became crystal clear as he shifted from the thing’s bruising neck to its tear-filled, pleading eyes.

Golden, honeyed and warm.

* * *

 

Shiro’s eyes shot open, sweat freezing against his skin, heart hammering in his chest. He sat up quickly, too quickly, and collapsed out of the bed. He didn’t even have time to run to the nearest bathroom, to slam the door shut and be out of sight. He grabbed the wastebasket beside the nightstand and promptly vomited the entire contents of his stomach into it, struggling to keep his balance with his lone arm gripping to it.

Matt jolted awake as Shiro had hit the floor, and scrambled to the side of the bed as he heard the man get sick, “Takashi,” he slurred, barely awake, “you okay?”

Shiro shook his head, answering with a keening cry between dry heaves. The dream had felt so real, and clung to his mind. It was new. He had never had that dream before. He hoped he never had it again. He couldn’t help but think of Matt’s nightmares, of how often Shiro awoke to see Matt grasping at his throat. He couldn’t help but wonder if Matt ever had nightmares of being choked by _him._ The thought made him retch again.

Nearly falling over in his sleepy stupor, Matt climbed out of bed, and draped himself across Shiro’s back, carding his finger’s through the man’s hair and whispering against the back of his neck, “shh, it’s okay babe, just a nightmare, right? It was only a nightmare.” His heart felt like lead, afraid to wonder exactly the nightmare had been of that Shiro hadn’t even screamed, hadn’t even woken him, had just dropped out of bed and gotten sick. This hadn’t happened before.

But Shiro shook his head, shuddering with each sob as the vision wouldn’t leave his mind. He coughed into the wastebasket a few more times, knowing fully well what a mess he looked like. He couldn’t find it in himself to be self-conscious, couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but guilt, disgust, and absolute horror. He couldn’t look at Matt right now, didn’t feel he deserved each comforting whisper and touch after what he’d done, even if it had only been a dream.

Matt reluctantly peeled himself off of Shiro’s back, realizing as his grogginess cleared that the added weight was likely hurting more than helping. He crawled on his hands and knees to the front of Shiro, grabbing the shoulder where the other’s prosthetic would go to help balance him, “you want me to help you to the bathroom or something? Get you some mouthwash?” he asked, unsure of what else to offer.

Shiro nodded weakly, sniffling with his head ducked low. Yet, he made no motion to move, his white-knuckled grip on the wastebasket making his hand tremble.

“Come on Takashi, it’s okay,” Matt soothed again as he pried Shiro’s hand free and pushed the basket out of the way. The other man slumped forward, and Matt caught him, wrapping his arms around his torso as he attempted to pick him off the ground. It was easier than he expected, and he soon found them both standing with Shiro leaning heavily against him, “come on, big guy. It’s just across the hall, okay?”

Still rather distraught, not quite thinking clearly, Shiro did little more than shuffle in the direction he was dragged, until his feet hit the cool tile, and he was gently lowered to sit atop the toilet seat. His head lolled back, staring up at the ceiling, up at the harsh white lights as tears still spilled across his cheeks. He was a monster. Even in a dream when his body and thoughts weren’t his own, the things he had done… He clamped a hand over his mouth as he gagged again, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking himself slightly.

Matt poured a cup of mouthwash, delicately pulling Shiro’s hand away to place the cup at his lips, “it’s okay, it’s all over now, why don’t you swish this around? Your mouth probably tastes real gross.”

“Matt, I was hurting you,” he choked out, pushing the cup away, “god, I was. I was killing you. You begged me to stop and I- I wouldn’t, I just…” A sob slammed through him again, strangled cries overtaking his words, “I couldn’t stop, I didn’t know!”

Matt’s heart dropped into his stomach. Neither of them were too keen on discussing nightmares, especially not in the midst of recovering from one. Matt felt awfully queasy himself as he imagined what Shiro could have done to him in the dream, but he bitterly knew it wouldn’t be any worse than what he had actually experienced his second time in captivity. Nevertheless, he couldn’t imagine doing those things to another person, much less someone he cared so much about. He put his hands on either side of Shiro’s face, forcing the broken man to look at him, “Takashi. Listen to me. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. You would never hurt me,” he promised.

Shiro’s tears didn’t slow, if anything they worsened as he looked into Matt’s soft amber eyes. The vision of them bloodshot, tearful and frightened were burned into his memory. It had been so vivid. That had been the hardest part of every nightmare for him, when every memory for years felt like a dream, every remembrance of a dream was too close to reality. It haunted him how difficult it was to tell the difference.

They stayed where they were for a long while, neither too sure of when they had awoken to know the exact time. But eventually, Shiro would run out of tears, miserably aware of the throbbing in his head and ache in his throat as he calmed. Matt offered him the cup of mouthwash again, which he graciously accepted, the lingering taste in his mouth making him want to get sick all over again.

Matt accepted no protest as he gingerly wiped Shiro’s face with a damp cloth. “You feeling any better?” he asked, his drowsiness having faded with how long they’d been awake again.

“Yeah,” Shiro croaked, “yeah, I feel a bit better…” He brushed Matt’s hair out of his eyes, forcing himself to stare into them again, to make sure they weren’t filled with fear, “thank you.”

“You do the same for me every single night it’s my turn to wake up screaming,” Matt mumbled with a sad smile, “come on, you want to find something to eat? And drink. You’re probably dehydrated.” He ran his hand down Shiro’s arm, fingers curling around his wrist to pull him to his feet.

With a tired groan, Shiro stood and sluggishly followed. He let himself be dragged into the kitchen, let himself be hefted onto the counter top. He murmured a quiet thanks as a glass of water was placed in his hand. He then stared blankly at the package of cookie dough tossed into his lap.

He blinked a few times, making sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Really, Matt? Cookie dough?”

Matt held up a matching pack, eyes glinting mischievously, “if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not going to feel a little better after shoveling an entire pack of cookie dough in your mouth, I’ll find you something else to eat.”

“Cookie dough doesn’t cure PTSD, sunshine,” he responded drily, but eyed the tempting package regardless.

“Yeah, well, neither does sobbing for hours on a toilet, or going back to sleep, so we might as well pick the fun option,” Matt reasoned. He climbed atop the counter next to Shiro, ripped opened the pack of cookie dough, and held one of the cubes to the other man’s lips, “eat the damn cookie dough.”

Rolling his eyes, Shiro let his mouth hang open, and accepted the wad of unbaked chocolate chip cookie. It was much more rich than he remembered, realizing it had been years since he’d last eaten raw cookie dough.

“Now, tell me you don’t feel a little better,” Matt taunted as he popped a piece into his own mouth. His face twisted, “oh, god, this stuff is dense. How the hell did we used to eat full packs of this?” He asked in a disgusted, yet impressed wonder, popping another chunk in his mouth and shoving another two towards Shiro.

“You know, if you make me eat all of this, I’m going to get sick again,” Shiro warned, taking the cookie dough regardless, “you’re a bad influence.”

“Yeah, well, I never said I was going to be good at this,” he shrugged, mouth still a little full, “But, I am always here for you. That counts for something.”

Shiro couldn’t help but smile, scooching a little closer to Matt on the counter and leaning his head on the other’s shoulder, “It counts for a lot more than you know.”

“No,” Matt shook his head before resting it atop Shiro’s, “I know exactly how much it counts for. Because I know you’re always here for me, too.” He jabbed another piece of cookie dough to Shiro’s mouth, “that’s how I know your nightmare was bullshit. You wouldn’t hurt me. Ever. And if you tried, I can probably kick your ass now.”

Shiro chuckled, not entirely sure of the last part, but finding himself blushing at the sentiment of it all, “you really mean that?”

“The heartwarming, reassuring part? Or the part where I’ll kick your ass?” Matt teased, “because I genuinely believe both.”

“Thanks, that… Strangely helps. A lot.” Shiro sighed, letting the reassurance drain some of the tension from his shoulders. He did feel better, and felt his heart brim with nostalgia at the ease they were starting to be able to talk with again. “You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like a certain someone,” he observed.

“Like who?” Matt scoffed, the words sounding nonsensical over a full mouth.

“Like yourself, Matt.” Shiro said, silencing Matt with more cookie dough the second he tried to protest, “no, listen to me. I know that there’s a lot I don’t know about… about what you’ve been through. But I know for a fact that you’re not as different as you think, and every time you talk, you sound more like the you I remember.”

After a moment of reflecting, and chewing, Matt replied with a quiet, “Oh,” unable to find remotely adequate words to express what that meant to him. How it helped chip away at his greatest fear, how it made him feel there was hope he could find himself again. It broke a barrier he hadn’t realized he ever put up. He wiped at his eyes, aware of how misty they were getting, “thanks, Takashi.”

They polished off the rest of the pack of cookie dough, and sat quietly leaned against each other for another few moments until Shiro broke the silence. “Matt, can I tell you a secret?” He whispered.

A chill ran through Matt, unsure of where this was going. But, with his newfound bravery, and determination to help Shiro as much as the other helped him, he answered, “yeah… Yeah, you can trust me.”

“Alright, here goes.” Shiro took in a dramatically deep breath, knowing he would really have no trouble saying it. “I had a pretty big crush on you during the Kerberos mission,” he admitted.

Having expected something much darker, Matt could only snort in response, “wow, that’s embarrassing. You probably should have kept that a secret.”

“Hey, I was trying to be sweet!” Shiro laughed, elbowing Matt in the ribs, “I thought you’d want to know!”

“No, that… That was pretty sweet. You should have asked me out back then. We could have kissed in space.” Matt grinned, placing a kiss to Shiro’s temple. He felt… happier than he had all day. Despite the circumstances that woke them, he was grateful for it. He could talk about these things, the things outside of nightmares. He could, and he wanted to.

“You liked me back then, too?” Shiro teased.

Matt rolled his eyes, “Of course I did, I may have needed glasses, but I still had eyes…” He yawned, rubbing his face and glancing over to the clock. He groaned at the time, “it’s like, 2am… We should go back to bed.”

“Yeah, alright,” Shiro reluctantly agreed.

He let himself be led back to the guest room, his hand squeezing tightly onto Matt’s, and not letting go as they snuggled back into bed. Mercifully, Shiro’s second slumber would be dreamless.

Matt would be the first to wake up for a change, and crinkle his nose at the startling realization that Shiro was, in fact, snoring.

He knew, theoretically, that it happened. Logically, with the sinus damage evident in Shiro’s most prominent scar, it made sense that he would snore. But in practice, Matt had never heard it before. He stared, fascinated at Shiro’s parted lips, slacked jaw and relaxed expression, listened to the rumble that came with each inhale, felt the puff of air that came with each exhale. He found that he didn’t mind it as much as he thought he might.

Absently, he wondered if this was how Shiro spent his mornings waking up first, watching the other look so at peace. After a few more minutes of entrancement, Matt decided it would be best to leave Shiro be, and try to find something for breakfast for the both of them. It had been an eventful night, and he felt… Closer to Shiro. As much as he had held onto the word safe, it seemed to have finally clicked during the late night conversation. Bringing himself back into focus, he resigned to carefully wiggle out of the other’s grasp.

Apparently, such a task was much easier said than done. Shiro’s arm was solidly wrapped around Matt’s torso, pinning down his arms, while one leg was locked firmly around Matt’s waist, the other leg hooked around Matt’s legs.

Matt quietly grumbled, lamenting to himself on how what Shiro lacked in limbs he more than made up for in strength and strategic placement, and he could find no way to wriggle free without disturbing the other’s slumber.

Hefound that he minded the snoring increasingly more as time dragged on.

Eventually, Shiro’s eyes clenched before they began to blink open, only to be met with an icy amber glare. His head jerked back a bit, face scrunching up as the dirty look caught him off guard. “Babe?” he cautiously garbled, unused to seeing the other look so _angry._

“Don’t you babe me, Shirogane,” Matt seethed, “I’ve been trapped here for an hour thanks to your stupid octopus limbs, and you snore. You snore loudly.”

“That’s it?” Shiro laughed, relief washing over his face, “that’s why you’re mad at me?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, not actually mad, but- HEY!” He squeaked out the last word as he was squeezed tightly. He smacked at Shiro’s abdomen, the only thing his pinned arms could reach, “not fair!”

Shiro nuzzled his nose into the junction of Matt’s neck and shoulder, ignoring the way he wiggled against the grip. As the memory of his nightmare stirred, he couldn’t bring himself to let the other man go. “I just want to hold you,” he reasoned, reluctantly loosening his grasp enough for the other to break free.

“I’m your boyfriend, you can hold me later,” he complained before the words caught up with his mind. Matt’s face flushed a furious shade of red as he stilled, not bothering to take the now clear path of escape. Once again, he found that saying something out loud made it… Real. Something neither of them could look past, brush off, or deny. Saying it out loud, admitting it, made it feel normal.

Yet, he was all too aware they hadn’t actually discussed it yet. He was aware that two days ago, neither had a clue as to what to say about themselves, and that the day before had been one of the rougher bumps on the road to recovery for both of them.

If anything, that made him all the more sure of it. It made him sure that now, after seeing the worst in each other and rushing forward rather than flinching away, they were in this for more than using the other as a crutch. They’d had a heart-to-heart over an entire pack of cookie dough for a reason. Steeling his nerves, Matt repeated it more confidently. “I’m your boyfriend. Right?”

“Of course,” Shiro soothed, planting a sweet kiss to the corner of Matt’s lips, “I… Sort of thought of you as that since you first kissed me,” he admitted, unable to keep the smile off his lips.

“Oh. I’ve, uh… I’ve got some anniversaries to make up for then, don’t I?” Matt joked guiltily, wishing he’d been able to have the conversation sooner, but grateful to have been able to start it at all, “wasn’t that like… a year and a half ago?”

“Give or take,” Shiro shrugged lazily. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Matt’s, warmth stirring in his chest at the way they gleamed. “I… I really couldn’t care less about that, though. Just being with you is more than enough,” he beamed. The longer they spent together, outside of the garrison, outside of war, the more he knew he had fallen too deep to ever change his mind. He was sure of every word.

“God, you’re such a marshmallow,” Matt groaned, hiding his scarlet face in his hands, “how can you say stuff like that?”

Shiro tried to pry Matt’s hands open, peeking in through the cracks of his fingers, “hey, you go long enough without being able to say anything, sometimes all you want to do is talk.”

“I wish that was how it worked for me,” he huffed, almost annoyed at how easy the other made it sound, “I’ve got a lot I would say to you if I could.”

“Does that mean I can ask you something…?” Shiro wondered aloud, remembering the deal they had struck the day before, “something small?”

“Oh,” Matt mouthed, having nearly forgotten. A dread started to replace the butterflies in his stomach, but he gripped tightly to Shiro, anchoring himself. He could do this. He was sure of it. “Something smaller than yesterday,” he cautioned.

Unwilling to ruin the moment completely, Shiro thought through his options, and settled on something he thought he already knew the answer to, “how long have you had a crush on me for?”

Matt blew a raspberry at him, relieved and amused that Shiro’s definition of ‘small’ had gone from torture duration down to the level of middle school truth or dare, “who says I ever had a crush on you?”

Shiro gave him an incredulous scoff, not at all buying that answer, “uh, you, last night.”

“Okay, asshole,” Matt quipped, averting his eyes and feeling everything from his neck to the tips of his ears burning red, “since… Since before my dad even introduced us. And it just never really went away...” He glanced back to see the other’s reaction, and his face heated even more at the goofy grin he was given, “don’t look at me like that!”

“You had a crush on me all the way back then?” Shiro marveled, his entire face lighting up as he was startled and charmed by the revelation, “back when you were that tiny little starstruck cadet that had a poster of me in your room? And always called me ‘sir’ no matter how many times I told you not to? Aww, I was like two feet taller than you! You were so small and adorable! With your giant glasses and short messy hair and-”

Matt slammed his face into Shiro’s chest, unable to take the embarrassment, “shut up! I'm trying to open up, and this is what I get?"

"Alright, you're right," he surrendered, petting Matt’s hair as the other remained hidden against his chest, "even if this is the cutest thing I've ever heard, I'll stop. I'll even let you ask me something, okay? Anything."

Matt peeked up, resting his chin flat against Shiro’s chest, "does it have to be small?"

Shiro's smile faltered. He wanted to keep the moment light, but not as much as he wanted to show Matt how much he trusted him, how open he would be with him, "No, it doesn't,” he decided. For a second, the honey colored eyes gazing up thoughtfully at him were replaced with the bloodshot, fearful ones he had seen in his nightmare, and part of him hoped Matt wouldn’t ask more about that. That might be the line.

But, that wasn’t what Matt wanted to know. Instead, he found himself dwelling on the time they had wasted, the time they could have been saying what the felt, rather than hiding behind projects and deadlines. Why, if Shiro had been so ready to tell him everything, he had waited, or stuck around at all? “Why are we doing this all now? Why did you wait to say everything to me?”

“Because…” Shiro trailed off, remaining quiet for a long moment as he gathered his thoughts, “I… I’ve been ready to share it all, and I’ve shared almost everything with the paladins already, but you were different. I was so focused on not losing you, that I was afraid to do anything that might scare you away," he explained, having to stop again to find the right words. “But… Then we were forced to deal with it, and I wasn’t going to hide how I felt. I just… I think I needed to hear you felt the same. That you want more than what we had. Is that a good answer?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, I... I think I knew that, if that makes sense.” He finally pushed away, sitting up and rubbing the rest of the sleep from his eyes, “I guess my dad was probably right to send us on a forced vacation… God, why is he always right?”

Shiro reached up to pull Matt back down by his sleeve, smirking at the shocked squeal it earned him, “you know, we’re supposed to be here celebrating Christmas, and all we’ve done is make a mess of the decoration boxes and eat the cookie dough."

“Yeah, well, we’ve been a little busy learning how to be normal people again,” he mumbled, “But I do still want to decorate...” He sat up again, getting far enough away that Shiro couldn’t pull him back, “come on, grab your arm, we’re putting up the tree.”

“I’m still tired,” Shiro whined, but it fell upon deaf ears as Matt chucked his arm onto the bed for him and darted out of the room, “Maaaaatt!” He called after the other, earning no response. With an exasperated sigh, he switched on his arm, waiting for it to connect and float into place before following.

Naturally, it would turn into an all day event, with an entire hour of just figuring out how to assemble the tree, without even starting the conversation of how to decorate it. It would turn out that Matt couldn’t care less about ornaments, instead insisting on draping every single string of lights in existence around the tree. Shiro, on the other hand, was much more amused with wrapping pieces of tinsel around Matt, and watching how long it would take the other to notice.

“Okay, this is the last string of lights, I promise!” Matt insisted, on his tiptoes to reach the highest part of the tree, “I need help...”

Shiro tugged at the loop of tinsel he had fit around Matt’s waist, pulling him away from the tree, “you said that four strings ago. You’re gonna blow a fuse.”

Matt gasped, having missed the tinsel belt until it tugged him backwards, “It’s not Christmas if I don’t blow a fuse!”

“Do you even see how much you’re daisy chaining right now?” Shiro asked, pointedly staring at an extension cord with a genuinely frightening amount of plugs jammed together into it, “I’m actually afraid you’re going to burn this house down.”

“Takashi, please, one more string. Then we can put the star up, and it’ll be perfect,” he pouted.

Shiro stared at the unfortunate Christmas tree. Not a single ornament was hung on it, despite the boxes full of them. Instead, it was drenched in at least twenty strings of lights, all blinking different colors, in different patterns, completely out of sync. There were two strands of tinsel, one cherry red one wrapped around the tree in a perfect spiral, and one short golden one that had been thrown at the tree and stuck in a strange, crooked ‘Z’ shape. It was, unequivocally, the worst Christmas tree Shiro had ever seen. He was still rather proud of it. “Fine, this is the last strand of lights,” he relented, releasing the tinsel he’d trapped Matt in, “then the star.”

Matt punched a fist into the air, retrieving the final light string and setting back to work wrapping it around the tree, having to climb up on the arm of the nearby couch to reach, “alright, it’s up, now hand me the star!”

Shiro rolled his eyes, but nevertheless smiled as he passed the glass star to Matt, who still perched atop the arm of the couch. He watched him place the star on the highest branch, perfectly aligned. He couldn’t risk the temptation of using his hovering arm to gently knock it crooked as Matt climbed back down.

Of course, Matt immediately noticed the star was tilted when he reached the floor, “damn it, hold on, I have to fix that,” he huffed, clambering back up the sofa again. He straightened the star out, and looked down to Shiro, “is it straight?”

“Yup. Looks pretty straight to me,” Shiro assured him. As soon as Matt’s eyes were averted, he poked it out of place. “Oh, maybe it’s not straight,” he snickered as soon as Matt reached the floor.

“Takashi!” He whined, once more having to climb up the couch to reach the star, “alright, seriously, make sure it's straight this time, I don’t want to climb up again.”

“I can 100% assure you, that star is straight right now,” he claimed, waiting for Matt to climb back down. This time, he waited until Matt was by his side, looking up at the star before poking out of place again, “and now, it’s not.”

“OH my god, you asshole!” Matt sputtered, weakly slapping Shiro’s arm, “put it back!”

“No way,” he laughed, ignoring the blow, “it’s too unfitting to have a mess of a tree and a perfect star.”

“Ugh, fine,” Matt gave in, flopping down on the sofa to admire their lack of decorating skills. “God, that’s an ugly tree…”

Shiro took the seat next to him, still bubbling with laughter, “you said it, not me.”

“Shut up!” Matt cackled, scooting in closer together, “don’t ruin this, today’s been so good!”

Shiro cocked an eyebrow at him, “what do you mean?”

Matt shrugged, unsure of how exactly to describe it. “I mean… why can’t every day just be silly and easy like this?”

Shiro’s expression cracked, all too aware of how rare easy could be, and undeniably sure that he couldn’t return to the way things had been. “You know, when our break is over, we don’t have to go back to how we were.”

“You mean working our asses off and ignoring how fucked up we are?” Matt scoffed.

“No, Matt, really…” Shiro sighed, pushing his too long bangs from his face, “I thought that working harder would help me. That the more I made a difference, the more I’d feel like myself, The more I’d be able to move on… All I did was make myself into a robot stuck in the past.”

Matt wrapped his arms around Shiro’s, snuggling in closer, “so, what exactly are you suggesting?”

“More of this,” Shiro said and turned to face the other, their noses brushing in the close proximity, “all of it. More time off, more goofing off, more of getting to be normal people again.”

Matt took the moment to consider what it would be like going back to how things were, going back to work at the garrison and taking on the same amount of projects as before. At first, he did it to prove that he could. To prove that he could be useful again, but… He felt as though he were drowning at the mere thought of it, and failed to see how he’d kept his head above water before. “Yeah, I feel the same,” he confessed. As much as he had feared the change that lead them to right then, he had needed it desperately. In just a few days, he’d felt like he made progress, yet still knew he had light years to go. There was still so much he needed to get off of his chest, so much that he wanted Shiro to know, but the words were just out of his grasp. Just out of his reach, and he couldn’t find it in himself to burden Shiro with the full weight of his recovery. “I think I want to get some help,” he shyly added, “I… can’t do this alone, and I can’t… I can’t pin it all on you anymore.”

“I’m always here for you,” Shiro assured, eyes soft and brows upturned, “you never have to be afraid to ask me for anything.”

“I know,” Matt turned, looking aside. To let himself be this vulnerable was enough of a challenge without the added struggle of maintaining eye contact. “I just don’t want you to be responsible for me… Not when you have your own life and problems to handle. I care about you too much.” his voice quieted, dragged down by the weight that clung to his words, “can we… Can we talk about something else for a bit?”

“Of course,” Shiro cooed. He freed his arm from Matt’s grasp, readjusting to lay down across the couch and pulling the other atop him, “anything you want, darling.”

“Darling? You know, you really are a huge softie,” Matt pointed out, jabbing an accusing finger into Shiro’s chest as he fought a losing battle with the pink rising to his cheeks. Eventually, he’d return the sentiments, but he’d been too enamoured by the chance to say ‘Takashi’ to bother with other endearments. He thought on it for a moment, before letting his mind wander through the options of cheery things they could talk about. He traced gentle, formless shapes into Shiro’s chest as he thought, finally settling on asking: “what do you want for Christmas?”

For a moment, Shiro hesitated. For a moment without responsibility, without fear, without distraction. He could hold Matthew Holt in his arms, without the need to ever let go. In the comfort of a home filled with memories, warmth, and the promise of more. In the twinkling rainbow of an ugly Christmas tree, with nothing to do but savor the moment.

There wasn’t anything in the world he wanted more than for something to last forever. Even if the past days had been a dismal reminder of how quickly a moment could spoil, he wanted even those times. He wanted the coarse imperfection of it all, every flaw, crack, and scar.

Before he could think about it further, before there was the slightest chance of second guessing himself, he answered, “I want you to marry me.”

Matt’s fingers stilled, along with his heart, but it didn’t take more than a moment’s thought to know his response. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“No?” Shiro repeated in disbelief, the single word snatching all the breath from his lungs. Surely he had misheard, misunderstood, but no. Matt’s voice had been unwavering, instant, and uncharacteristically firm. He was sure.

The tangle of fears they had woven at the very start reignited in Shiro’s mind. The cards were on the table, the curtains drawn back, the light shone in and the spell was just as broken as them. They had opened up their hearts, let the other see the raw fragments that remained, and Shiro had wanted it all so desperately, he hadn’t reconsidered that Matt wouldn’t. That Matt had decided it all too much, or perhaps too little. And Shiro couldn’t find a single scrap of himself that blamed him.

“Not yet, I won’t marry you yet! Oh my god, stop giving me that look,” Matt whined, plopping his head down to the pillow beneath him so he didn’t have to see Shiro’s pained expression, “your face is making me feel like I just kicked a homeless puppy.”

“Not...yet?” Shiro breathed, quite unable to form words outside echoes, caught in a world of brittle glass just a chip away from shattering.

“There’s too much you don’t know about me,” Matt grumbled into the pillow, his words muffled and just barely audible in Shiro’s shocked silence, “I… I want you to know everything. Then you can decide if you still want to marry me.” He watched as Shiro threw his head back with a substantial sigh of relief, and Matt was unable to hold in an amused snort, “you okay there?”

Shiro shook his head as he covered his eyes with his hand, “yeah, I’m good, I just thought…” the words trailed off, he didn’t quite want to admit what he thought as the aftermath of fear still raced through his heart. “So. That means yes eventually, right?” He asked, “one day?”

“Yeah, Takashi…” There were a thousand things Matt wanted, needed to tell him. Almost decade’s worth of secrets he wanted to spill, absolutely everything from the moment they met to now. It was a flood of truths, of nightmares, of daydreams, of everything he had left of himself. A million words racing through his mind and none of them could reach his throat. Not yet. His shoulders slumped in dismay, but he forced himself to inhale, to say something, to say anything to start with. To say something that would be easy to admit, even if it was barely a fraction of what he felt. He turned his head, and managed to say “I love you,” as he buried his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck.

After a moment’s pause, fingers threaded through his hair, gently guiding his head just far enough away for Shiro to surge forward and capture his lips in a heated kiss. Matt gasped, lips parting slightly, and the lips against his mimicked the motion. Shiro swallowed the soft whimper Matt made as their tongues slid against one another for the first time. While they had kissed regularly, it was never open-mouthed, never lingered too long, never more than chaste. They were both rather rusty, kissing slowly, messily, and more than once clacking their teeth together as they relearned. Nevertheless, Shiro kept his hands threaded into Matt’s hair, and Matt slid his hands up to grasp at Shiro’s stubbled jaw, both holding the other near until neither could continue without breaking for air.

Yet, even after their lips parted, they clutched each other close, and Shiro speckled kisses onto every inch of Matt’s face and neck he could reach, saying “I. Love. You. Too.” as he punctuated each word with another smooch.

Matt couldn’t help but laugh, trying to remember the last time he saw Shiro smile so widely.

Vaguely he remembered, as though through a pane of frosted glass, the night Shiro had pulled him from his bed, had dragged him through a shuttle, and sat him in the pilots seat, as they both marveled over going further than any human had ever been. The ghosting memory of a warm hand threaded through his, now replaced with a colder, metallic grasp, though he would never complain about it.

He knew it wouldn’t last forever. The world wouldn’t stop for them, and each day would have its own challenges, from small to agonizing. But, he would let himself have this. One more perfect moment with the man he loved.

Shiro ended the onslaught of affection with one final peck to Matt’s nose. “My sunshine,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cute story about Shiro trolling Matt with decorating a Christmas tree. I then got carried away. Then I figured, why the hell not make this the sequel I’ve put off forever?  
> But WOW this wasn't at all what I set out to write but I feel like I just went on a hell of a journey finding the emotion to do this, so I really hope you all like it! Thank you for reading <3  
> (And I’m sorry again about the nightmare scene. I actually used a version of it as an assignment in a supernatural literature class. So. You know. Intentionally disturbing.)  
> ((And I’m also sorry about the backstory I made for Matt. He’s been through a lot, which has been intentionally left vague.))


End file.
